Fiction is of the essence of poetry as well as of painting; there is a resemblance in one of human bodies, things, and actions which are not real, and in the other of a true story by fiction.
JOHN DRYDENAnd plenty makes us poor.
More John Dryden Quotes
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Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
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The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is Nature’s eye.
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Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.
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They live too long who happiness outlive.
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Murder may pass unpunished for a time, But tardy justice will overtake the crime.
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Sure there’s contagion in the tears of friends.
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Keen appetite And quick digestion wait on you and yours.
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They that possess the prince possess the laws.
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They think too little who talk too much.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Affability, mildness, tenderness, and a word which I would fain bring back to its original signification of virtue,–I mean good-nature,–are of daily use; they are the bread of mankind and staff of life.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.
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Pity only on fresh objects stays, but with the tedious sight of woes decays.
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I never saw any good that came of telling truth.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the’ appointed place we tend; The world’s an inn, and death the journey’s end.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
JOHN DRYDEN -
Old as I am, for ladies’ love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
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More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store.
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All empire is no more than power in trust.
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Order is the greatest grace.
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Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
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All objects lose by too familiar a view.
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The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
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There is a proud modesty in merit.
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Merit challenges envy.
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Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
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For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
JOHN DRYDEN